


Jerejean Hogwarts AU

by knox_moreau



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Hogwarts, It's not that graphic, M/M, i just dont want anyone to be caught offguard by any violence, it's p vague, jerejean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knox_moreau/pseuds/knox_moreau
Summary: This fic is co-written with @beanmoreau on tumblr. Please check out their amazing blog!





	1. Part 1

Out of all the people it had to be him, didn’t it? He was even chosen specially to go to the British wizarding school instead of the French school he would’ve gone too to learn his stupid flowery spells. Jean Moreau had been sent two letters this morning: one that came with green ink and sealed with a crest depicting a lion, snake, raven, and badger, and the other in a black envelope with no address of the sender, or strangely enough, the receiver either.

Upon seeing the letter, Jean’s father seemed to be stricken with panic and fear. His mother, however calmly she acted, held the same fear behind her grey eyes. She practically snatched the letter out of Jean’s small hands, walking in short but quick strides to presumably find a knife to open the letter. His father followed when she didn’t come out after about a minute, and finally, a quizzical Jean wandered into the kitchen.

“What is it, maman?” Jean asked, worry intruding upon his voice. His mother knelt down just a little to be the same height as Jean. Even at this age, Jean was already almost as tall as his mother.

“We…made a deal with the Moriyamas-”

“Is that the family you guys always whisper about?” Jean inquired with a furrowed brow.

“Y-Yes,” his mother’s voice quivers as the words roll out of her mouth. “The deal was that we’d let you go to Hogwarts, the school this letter is from.” She stops speaking to hold up the manilla envelope. “And you’d be in Slytherin house. You’d play quidditch for one of the best teams in the area.” Confusion made its way visibly onto Jean’s face. None of that sounded as bad as his parents were acting like. “But we wouldn’t be able to see you. Ever.”

Jean took a moment to let that part sink in. He’d never see his mother or father again once he left for this allegedly great school. This deal his parents had made was started to sound as bad now.

“Why?” Jean spoke the question his parents had been mentally preparing themselves to explain.

“We were in debt to the Moriyamas. They offered us this deal where we could be considered out of debt if we sent you to the wizarding school they owned. They told us you had to play quidditch for them, and we thought it might be okay since you love playing quidditch.”

Jean had heard enough. He wasn’t a stupid child. His parents were sugarcoating the fact he was being shipped away from them forever. Did they not understand how permanent this was? Jean was being sold. They could use the term ‘deal’ all they wanted, but when it boiled down to it, they were selling their child.

No matter how much Jean cried for them not to do it, they continued to pack his things. Everything had to be taken with him if he wanted to keep it all, they said. There was no point in leaving any stuff here, they said. Since you’ll never be returning, they said. Jean only cried more.

Jean had stopped crying by the time he boarded the train. He wandered down the aisle, passing the trolley witch who offered him some form of English magical candy Jean hadn’t seen before. He came to an empty compartment and sat. He sat and sat and sat, thinking over the events of the pass day.

“Are you okay?” a British voice asked him from the doorway of the compartment. The voice was friendly and warm. “You haven’t moved in at least an hour.” Jean turned his head towards the bright grin of the new person standing in front of him. This boy was bright from head to toe. Bright from how they were dressed in a gold shirt and ratty, gold sneakers to the sparkle behind their blue eyes. Jean was not feeling it.

“I’m fine. And who are you?” Jean asked, sighing at the surprise evident on this boy’s face due to the accent Jean spoke with.

“I’m Jeremy Knox,” he recovered his go-lucky demeanor in a matter of seconds. After a beat of silence, Jeremy continued on to ask for Jean’s name.

“Jean.” Keep it simple, Jean told himself. Guard yourself. Even your parents will hurt you when given the chance.

“Okay. Mind if I sit here?” Jeremy asks happily, but the smile falters when he checks Jean’s expression for any sign of warmth. He finds none.

“Yes.”

“Oh. Um, okay,” Jeremy shrugs, trying to cover up his discouragement. He looks over his shoulder when a girl calls to him. “Well, bye.” He closes the compartment door and disappears out of Jean’s sight.

After more riveting sitting and doing absolutely nothing, Jean felt the train come to a halt. He turned his cheek to look at the window, and the train had indeed stopped outside of a small town. Looking outside across a lake, Jean could see a huge castle with pointed turrets everywhere. Was this Hogwarts? Jean was filled with wonder, forgetting his sadness for only a moment. Owls fluttered about in the sky, carrying what appeared to be letters and packages. There was a large tree that was swaying about in the wind to a side the castle.

Jean’s amazement was interrupted by the stomping of feet as they rushed somewhere, presumably off the train. The first years took boats across the body of water, sailing towards the castle. Jean wound up alone in his boat which was propelling itself without paddles.

Upon entering the castle, Jean’s amazement had returned to him. The walls were tall and made of cracking old brick, but it had a certain charm to it. There were several steps leading up to a door where someone stood, explaining what was happening. Everyone in the room was a first year who were about to enter what they referred to as the Great Hall, where we’d be sorted into our houses. There were four houses to be sorted into, which the “Sorting Hat” would elaborate on momentarily. What was a sorting hat? Jean wondered. As he found out when the new students were ushered through the door at the top of the steps, it was indeed a hat.

Jean now understood why they referred to this room as the Great Hall. Its ceiling appeared to be enchanted to resemble the sky. It was a deep shade of blue and purple with splotches of bright light that were stars. Hanging from the ceiling were banners of four different pairs of colors with the four animals Jean recognized from the seal of the letter with green ink. There were red and gold banners with a lion depicted on them, green and silver with a snake, yellow and black with a badger, and blue and bronze with a raven.

Jean was caught off guard when the hat that was set on a wooden stool began to speak.

“Oh you may not think I’m pretty,  
But don’t judge on what you see,  
I’ll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,  
And I can cap them all.

There’s nothing hidden in your head,  
The Sorting Hat can’t see,  
So try me on and I will tell you,  
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring nerve and chivalry,  
Set Gryffindors apart.

You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,  
And unafraid of toil.

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you’ve a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind.

Or perhaps in Slytherin,  
You’ll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means,  
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don’t be afraid!  
And don’t get in a flap!  
You’re in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I’m a Thinking Cap!”

Jean stood in line along with the rest of the first years, every one of their heads swiveling back and forth to take it all in. Jean, however, was focused on the Sorting Hat. Jean had never known a hat that could speak, let alone rhyme so well. But Jean was more preoccupied by remembering what his mother had said about being in Slytherin. Jean had to be in Slytherin, although he wasn’t sure what would happen if he wasn’t.

“Jean Moreau,” a tight-lipped teacher called first. Jean hated being first. He could’ve been third at least so he would’ve seen how this works. On shaky legs, Jean took the few steps up to where the stool was placed. The teacher was holding the hat by the tip, looking at Jean expectantly. Jean hesitantly placed himself upon the stool before he felt the hat slip down over his head.

“Hm. A good mind, a good mind indeed. Very clever, but very introverted I see. I think you’ll do just fine in Ravencl-”

“No,” Jean’s thought came out more forceful than he had expected it to. He could practically feel the sorting hat stop to look into his thought, trying to figure out his thought process.

“No? What’s wrong with Ravenclaw?” the hat spoke inside Jean’s head. A chill danced down Jean’s spine from the thought of someone, something rather, looking into his mind.

“I have to be in Slytherin,” Jean thought, unsure of how to explain. He found it ridiculous that he was even explaining himself to a hat of all things.

“I see. Not many people request to be in that house.” Jean stared down at his quivering hands, and he stuffed them into his lap to appear less nervous than he was. “And why must you be in Slytherin house?”

“My parents, um, sir,” Jean answered in his thoughts. Do you call a hat sir? Did a hat even have a gender? Jean wasn’t aware of any proper hat etiquette. “They made a deal.”

The Sorting Hat paused. It had heard about parents making deals with this school before.

“I see. Slytherin it is then.” Relief spread over Jean before a cold, terrified feelings overtook it. He could hear the hat yelling Slytherin out loud, and the hat was taken off his head. Jean stood on numb legs, staggering over to the table beneath the green and silver banners. There was clapping and cheering from the table except for a group of wizards and witches, dressed similarly and all sitting in the same position. It seemed peculiar to Jean.

Jean took a seat and began thinking instead of paying attention. His parents were gone, he was at a school where he knew nobody, and he was trying his hardest not to freak out. At least he’d get to play quidditch.


	2. Part 2

Jean was distracted from his thoughts as a hush fell on the hall, the sorting had continued in his lack of concentration and now a tall boy with dark hair was walking towards the stool as the teacher called out “Kevin Day” over the student heads.

There was particular quality about Kevin the caught Jeans attention, he was calm but there was a reserved edge to him like he was far older at heart than he looked.

The boy sat on the stool and the hat fell over his eyes, there was a pause and Jean wondered what conversation he was having, if it was anything like his own of maybe the boy was just suited to more than one house, suddenly however the hat was shouting “Slytherin” across the room and strangely Jean almost felt relieved. Amidst the cheering from around Jean the boy stood nodding once to himself and then glancing back towards line of student still waiting by the doors before turning on his heel and walking across to the Slytherin table. He walked straight past Jean and settled with the other students, the ones that all looked and sat the same, immediately slipping into their ranks with only a few slight signs of welcome.

Jean’s eyes stayed fixed on the boy for a while, he felt like he should know him, his name seemed familiar somehow but he brushed it off, told himself that he would know the boy soon enough, after all they were going to be first years together.

He turned his attention back to watch the other students, eyes glazing over and names washing over him none of them sticking until the whole energy in the room changed, a not quite hush falling again, made more pronounced by the quiet whispers and murmuring from the crowd. At the front of the hall a short Japanese boy strode towards the stool, he was ahead of himself the teacher not even announcing him yet but she did as soon as she saw him coming “Riko Moriyama” boomed out across the room and the boy smiled.

The hat had barely skimmed his hair before it’s pronounced Slytherin with such conviction it made jeans skin crawl and as cheering went up for the first time from people at every table Jean memory kicked in and his skin went cold realising why he knew this boy’s name already. Why students from every house would cheer for the addition of a new Slytherin. The Moriyamas essentially owned this school. The family who now did own Jean. His eyes followed Riko as he approached the way you watch a catastrophe about to happen, time slowing but only enough for you to realise there’s nothing you can do to help. Before Jean has any time to prepare the boy was standing over him and despite being a good 2 inches shorted then Jean he had a way of seeming huge, all encompassing. Jeans world narrowed to the disinterested sneer marring the boy’s features as he appraised Jean.

“Moreau” He tipped his chin up slighting and all Jean could do was nod dumbly. Riko cocked his head to the side and smiled, it made Jeans fists curl instinctively but Riko didn’t seem to notice as he turned his attention to the group just past them and the empty seat next to Kevin “over here.” it wasn’t a request or question or even an offer. Jean knew it for was it was immediately, it was an order, swallowing thickly he pushed himself to his feet scowling at the wood under his fists.

Not here he told himself, not now. Don’t make a scene, it’s not worth it, not now. He stood and followed Riko to the empty seats, scanning the faces of those already there and recognising them now for who they were. The Slytherin quidditch team in all their dark glory.

Jean mentally kicked himself as soon as he realised why he knew the name Day, and Moriyama for that matter, Kayleigh Day was a leading light in the development of what quidditch is today and it was alongside her that the Moriyamas truly cemented their power over Hogwarts. In recent years the game had taken off globally and Hogwarts was home to the leading team. Tetsuji Moriyama’s hand selected Ravens. The very team that Jean had been sold into. 

The students in the great hall must have been dismissed at some point because Jean abruptly found himself bombarded by movement and noise as heavy benches were pushed back and tables began to clear. He stood quickly only for his immediate view to be filled a moment later by the face of Kevin Day, the boy was annoyingly serious for an 11 year old but Jean was grateful he wasn’t going have to be the one to initiate conversation.

“Are you Jean?” there was a slight accent to his voice but Jean reminded himself not to frown at it given that his own would be far worse. Deciding that staying quiet would be the best course of action until told otherwise he bit his bottom lip and nodded at Kevin. Unperturbed Kevin simply grinned and grabbed his hand “You’re with us now then, hurry up!”

 

The other boys on the team had filed in and were already sorting out their luggage but Riko payed them no attention as he lead Kevin, and there by Jean, to a second corridor. Identical to the first except in colour, where the other dormitory was deep green with silver highlights these rooms were darker. Black. That was the immediate thought upon Jean’s arrival, black everything, black; allencompasing, overwhelming, suffocating. Jean put his hand against the wall to steady himself, to check it wasn’t some kind of spell, a shroud of seamless black cast over the rooms. Rikos room was the first and he disappeared into it with a derisive “sort him out” to Kevin over his shoulder. Kevin simply nodded and continued to the next door down leading Jean into a shared room that he assumed must be for the two of them.

“It’ll get easier, there’s a lot riding on this first year, for all of us. Just play and play well and do what you’re told.”

Kevin’s words from that first night in their room echoed in Jeans head, as sleep had pulled at his reason and the filter between his brain and mouth had slipped Jean’s fear and anger had made an appearance mixing broken english with rushed harsh french Jean had vented into the void of darkness that hung around them. Kevin’s only advice; ‘play and play well and do what you’re told’ 

Jean grit his teeth and clenched his fists in his sheets as tears threatened to blind him. Do what you’re told. Do what you’re told. Do what you’re told. First his parents, packing him off, selling him, and now Kevin, a boy he had known for a matter of hours, a boy a year younger than him, telling him not to fight it, to do what they told him, to follow and bow and fall in.

As scared as he was, as grateful for the semblance of welcome Kevin had shown him, as much as he thought playing quidditch for a career would actually be too bad, more than anything Jean was angry. Angry at his parents, at the way Riko had managed to make him feel small, angry at the universe for everything that lead him to this point.

That first night his fear fizzled out as his anger took over.

And when Jean Moreau was angry he wasn’t very good at following orders.

Of course angry things get tired, and it only takes so long for brittle boys to break. 

Kevin understood to an extent, but there was nothing he could do, Jean wouldn’t be told and so Kevin gave up trying at some point during that first year. He was at least there in the rare quiet moments when Riko was busy with something else and the two didn’t have to be Ravens for an hour or two, were able to just exist as students, as boys. They would study and practice what they had learnt that week, Kevin was the only person Jean had met who honestly enjoyed History of Magic classes. As hesitant as Jean might be to admit it, they were friends, he even taught Kevin french when he could get away with it. 

Somehow Jean managed to drag himself to enough of his classes in that first year to not face the wrath of any of his teachers but that was something of an insignificant mercy when he remembered what he had to go back to after each one. The Ravens worked on a different timetable than the other students, even than the other Slytherins, they ran on 15 hour days and any time not in class or sleeping they were expected to be out on the pitch training. Slacking or tardiness was not tolerated, neither was Jeans attitude a fact that Riko took time and pleasure in driving home.

First years weren’t meant to be allowed on the teams but the rules seemed to get blurry when it came to the Ravens and so Jean found himself lining up with the rest of the team for the weekly game and filing out onto the field. Only off the bench when Riko and Kevin where playing so the three would always play together but the majority of that first year he wasn’t called to play.

But as Jean would tell himself on the nights when pain made sleep impossible, at least he was flying. He knew what to do out on the field, he was able to switch into game mode, and all he had to do was play to the standard demanded of him.

Best of all though in the long painful days of that first year, where the days when he simply got to watch the other house teams. Got to forget the reality of the life he now lived, never for long enough, never really any help, but watching the other teams play reminded him why he had loved to play before coming here, allowed him amidst his battered empty anger to hope to someday enjoy playing as clearly as they did.


	3. Part 3

Jean Moreau got out of bed in record time this morning. It was just like any other morning: painful. Everything hurt from the earlier night, and a mixture of aching and exhaustion rendered his limbs stiff. Despite this, he had to look in the mirror. He had to know if what had happened was a dream or not. If he was merely dreaming his own torture and branding now, if he was just going insane inside his own mind, or was it real? Fear of this outweighed the stiffness, and Jean staggered his way into the bathroom as quick as he could. The blood ran out of Jean’s already pale face until it was even paler. 

There was a bandage on Jean’s cheekbone, something dark and curved poking out from under the cloth. He barely winced when he ripped the bandage off. That pain was nothing compared to the inner turmoil Jean felt after seeing the tattoo. It was real. It wasn’t a dream. Jean was permanently marked as a Raven, showing off who owned him and who he answered to.

The number three was tattooed across his cheekbone, black and precise like everything else about the Ravens.

This three stuck with Jean over the course of the years. It stuck with Jean through each night as Riko sliced him open and sewed him shut to do it all again. It stuck with Jean each morning he looked in the mirror. It stuck with him through each class where he was given a variety of looks, fear, pity, and judgement. Jean was sick of all of them, all of it. Jean was done with emotions, done with pain, done with people. Nobody stuck up for him, and nobody ever would because he was property and nothing more.

Now it was Jean’s fifth year, and he was in an advanced class of Charms with all the sixth years surrounding him. He recognized one of them as the captain of the Trojans, the rival and complete opposite school quidditch team of the Ravens. The boy smiled brightly at Jean, striking confusion inside the French boy. This other boy wasn’t avoiding eye contact or staring straight at the number. He was staring at the boy behind the number.

Jean took his seat and stared down at the desk, which was safe enough considering his desk probably would not assault him. In his peripheral vision, someone sat down beside Jean. Jean turned his head to see the Trojans captain beside him. Didn’t this boy know Jean was a Raven? Didn’t he know how much trouble Jean was already in for just looking at him?

“Hey, Jean.” This also took Jean by surprise, as did everything about this stupid boy. How did he know his name? Jean stared at him for a solid minute before it struck him. This was Jeremy Knox, the first person he ever met from Hogwarts. The bright boy with the beaten up yellow shoes and the smile that challenged the sun.

“Hello, Knox,” Jean kept his voice cool so as not to betray the emotions inside him. Except, this only made Jeremy smile brighter since Jean knew his name. Jean would be in even more trouble for talking to Jeremy now.

“How’s Slytherin been treating you?” Jean could not tell him truthfully how it had been treating him. Slytherin was the house of ambition, and Jean had none. The house of cunningness, and Jean had none of that either. Jean was not a true Slytherin, he had learned. And he was being punished for it every night.

“Fine,” is how his thoughts come out instead. “What about Hufflepuff?” Why was Jean making small talk with the enemy? Jean stopped himself for a moment. The enemy? Jeremy wasn’t the enemy. He was just a person unlucky enough to be affected by Jean’s 5-mile blast zone.

Jeremy was practically beaming that Jean seemed to be opening up to him. In a way, Jean was, just by talking, which Jean didn’t do very often. Screams were different from words, Jean supposed.

“Hufflepuff is great,” Jeremy’s voice was set to a dreamy tone as he stared up at the ceiling with his head thrown back. His slightly long, slightly not hair fell back, his dimples appearing as he grinned, and his eyes shining happily. Jean got the sense this boy was always happy, and he found himself suddenly jealous.

Jean wished he was always happy. He wished he was in any other house, any other place, being any other person besides the one he was. But all Jean had were his scars and impossible wishes.

Jean’s horribly depressing inner monologue was interrupted by the tiny charms teacher entering the room. Jean sat through charms in silence, Jeremy whispering occasional jokes or random things he’d heard that day to Jean. And it occasionally brought a smile to Jean’s face, at least until Jean remembered he’d be dead by morning if Riko found out he was talking with Jeremy.

Sure enough, he found out.

Jean only realized he knew a moment too late. He saw Riko coming down the hall towards him with a wickedly cold smile on his face. Riko reached Jean and clenched a hand around Jean’s pale arm, fingertips digging into the skin and leaving even more marks.

“Let’s take a walk, Moreau.” The chill in his tone was enough to turn the room and the blood in Jean’s veins icy. Jean followed.

They stopped at a room along the corridor that was long extinct of inhabitants, evident by the dust dancing across every surface in the room. There were no windows, no light once the heavy door had swung shut. It would be impossible, Jean realized, for anyone to hear screams contained inside the room.

Jean couldn’t see. He felt a knife at his gut, heard words hissed at his ear. He stopped thinking. He only began to think again once it was over. Once he’d been sewn together again, like a ragdoll whose stuffing had come out. Then Riko left. The door swung shut, leaving Jean to himself, his darkness, and his stitches.

Jean regained his consciousness in pieces. Every time he came to, he couldn’t move, couldn’t feel anything, or felt too much. Once he was mostly conscious, could feel his limbs, and wasn’t screaming in pain, he got up. It was a aching endeavor, but he managed. He’d been in worse condition before. He staggered down the hall towards the Slytherin common room. He just wanted to lay down, go to sleep, and never wake up.

“Jean, are you okay?” Fuck. Jean couldn’t talk to Jeremy, not after this. Instead, Jean hobbled about as fast as a slug to the common room. After he made it, he collapsed on the bed. He didn’t know if it was his bed, but it didn’t matter. Colors were running together, faces were looking at him. People were asking questions, looking at him funny.

Jean didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care.

He kept repeating that in his head, or maybe it was out loud, until he was unconscious again.


End file.
